Happy

We are preparing for the passing of my grandfather, Dr. Sam Logan, Founding Director of West Jefferson Hospital, beloved member of Trinity Episcopal Church, lifelong supporter of the arts, world traveler, healer to the poor and needy, and adored pillar of his community. He will leave this world with a legacy of light and grandeur, carried on courageously by his wife, four children and their spouses, twelve grandchildren, three great grandchildren (with two more on the way) and hundreds, if not thousands, of friends and loved ones whose lives he has touched. 

As we hold vigil for my mother's father, I am reminded of a similar process for my precious grandmother, Happy--mother of my father, for whom I was named, a giant of a woman despite her small stature.

Below is the tribute that I wrote and read at Happy's memorial service, just one year ago.  I expect I'll write more about GrandSam as the depth of his passing settles into my spirit.

I wish I could see the jig that Happy and GrandSam will do when they are reunited as old friends and in-laws.

***

Phonebooks.  When I was a little girl, maybe six or seven—young enough to notice things but not quite old enough to question them—I thought it was perfectly normal to sit on phonebooks while driving a car. 

Along those lines, I also thought it normal to pick flowers on the side of a highway or spend an afternoon grazing for four-leaf clovers.  Why shouldn’t it be normal?  Happy did all of those things with perfect, impermeable confidence and joy. 

Happy lived her life through joy.  No matter the setback or obstacle, she chose love over fear and faith over worry.  She taught us that it is alright to cry, but when the crying is done, it is time to stand up and move forward.

Happy lived a life of devotion.  To her brother, Sunny, and sisters, Anne and Amelia.  To her two husbands, Tom and Louis, who she follows now.  To her beloved children, Carol, Reed and Tom, and their spouses Norman and Melanie.  To her five grandchildren and five great grandchildren.

And let us not forget Happy’s vast, extended family.  The Colonial Dames.  The Episcopal Church.  The great State of South Carolina.  And of course, all of God’s creatures and plants—most of which she could call by their scientific name. 

Hers was a life of understated elegance.  She was a proud, strong woman, unflappable in both resolve and courage.  But with her pride came a rare form of gracious humility—a warmth that radiated from her sparkling blue/gray eyes and filled up the hearts of all those around her.  She taught us the power of sincerity and the gift of gratitude and generosity.

She was, in a word, Happy.  And there is, never was, and never will be another like her.

I am my grandmother’s namesake.  No honor in this world could come close to that of carrying her name.  But the legacy of Caroline Arthur Mauldin Hendricks does not fall to me alone.  And thank goodness—because though her stature was quite small, her footsteps were quite grand.  No, instead, Happy leaves a legacy that we will call carry together.  One of joy, love, and above all faith.  Faith that it will all be alright. 

When Happy fell ill several months ago, my mother said something that I want to share with you all today.  She said, “Happy is going to teach me how to die like she taught me how to live.” 

I hope—and know—that we will all remember Happy in that way.  As one of life’s greatest teachers, both here on Earth and far beyond. 

So, as her spirit circles us in this room right now, I ask you to join me in toasting an extraordinary woman with her own favorite saying: Happy Days.